Barry, the painter, was with Nollekens, at Rome, in 1760, and they were extremely intimate.  Barry took the liberty one night when they were about to leave the English coffee-house, to exchange hats with him; Barry’s was edged with lace, and Nollekens’ was a very shabby plain one.  Upon his returning the hat the next morning, he was requested by Nollekens to let him know why he left him his gold-laced hat.  “Why, to tell you the truth, my dear Joey,” answered Barry, “I fully expected assassination last night; and I was to have been known by my laced hat.”  Nollekens often used to relate the story, adding, “It’s what the Old Bailey people would call a true bill against Jem.”—­Nollekens’s Life and Times.

* * * * *

Napoleon’s Roman bed at Malmaison was without curtains, and his arms were hung on the walls of the chamber.

* * * * *

LINES WRITTEN ON A JOURNEY OVER THE BROCKEN.

BY S.T.  COLERIDGE.

---------------------------- I moved on
With low and languid thought, for I had found
That grandest scenes have but imperfect charms
Where the eye vainly wanders, nor beholds
One spot with which the heart associates
Holy remembrances of child or friend,
Or gentle maid, our first and early love,
Or father, or the venerable name
Of our adored country. O thou Queen,
Thou delegated Deity of Earth,
Oh “dear, dear” England, how my longing eyes
Turned westward, shaping in the steady clouds
Thy sands and high white cliffs! Sweet native isle,
This heart was proud, yea, mine eyes swam with tears
To think of thee; and all the goodly view
From sovran Brocken, woods and woody hills
Floated away, like a departing dream,
Feeble and dim.

Amulet for 1829.

We wish a few more of the tourists who are picking their way over the continent, would illustrate their books of travels with such noble sentiments as are contained in these few lines—­instead of the querulous whinings about cheap and dear living, the miseries of our climate, and a thousand other ills of the malade imaginaire.

* * * * *

Madame De Souza used to say that “cleanliness is the excellence of the poor.”

* * * * *

The Gatherer.

A snapper up of unconsidered trifles. 
Shakspeare.

* * * * *

RUSSIA AND TURKEY.

(To the Editor of the Mirror.)

The following intelligence from the seat of war, though premature in some respects, and not quite new in others, may be acceptable to your readers, from A.A.A.

ALPHABETICAL ALLITERATION.